[BNP/E3, 20 – 8]

The cynic is only a pessimist that is merry. No more of him.

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How gay was the dinner yesterday! How Aunts and Uncles and cousins male and female were joyous, how all was merry. All was wit, charm, warmth. Poor Friar Maurice, thou wert present, and all was[1] cold, cold, cold. Poor Friar Maurice. Friar Maurice is mad. Do not laugh at Friar Maurice.

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Laugh at no one, make no one ridiculous, not even in thy inmost heart. Human life is too serious and too sad a thing for laughter.

Laugh with children at the simple things that make them merry. But laugh at nothing more.

[8^v]

I have thoughts which, if I could body them forth and make them living {…}, would add a new brightness to the stars, a new beauty to the world and a greater love to the heart of man.

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[1] all was ^{/thou wert\}